


theory 'bout the bitter one

by ataraxistence



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, M/M, Tarsus IV, is part of Jim's backstory here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:31:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ataraxistence/pseuds/ataraxistence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones is striding down the hallways, coming in Jim’s direction, and he is <i>covered</i> in blood to the elbows. It’s liberally spattered across his scrubs, although his cap is off; dark brown hair falls in exasperated clumps across his forehead. Despite all the disarray, though, Bones is so deeply composed that Jim can feel it from five feet away. His face isn’t even wrinkled in frustration – his forehead is smooth as a summer day's lake, that usually expressive mouth set in a firm, determined line. Bones looks like grim Death himself, Jim thinks fancifully, perfectly at home here in this sea of misery and suffering and terror – and yet, Bones is going to be the one who saves these people, as many of them as he possibly can. Jim is dead sure of that.</p>
<p>Academy!era fic. On Omicron Alpha 238, Jim witnesses Leonard's ferocious competence in the midst of a terrorist attack, and Leonard realises that Jim takes a deep pleasure in fighting his ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> T minus 9 weeks: Jim and Leonard receive their summer break posting - Omicron Alpha 238, known as Ra'xi to the natives, a recently warp-capable planet interested in negotiating with the Federation.
> 
> This fic is projected for nine chapters or so.

“ _Motherfucker_ ,” Jim curses, springing up again with his fists at the ready. Commander Accardo bares her teeth in what he _thinks_ is meant to be a smile, but really comes across like a Denebian soldiercat’s threat display. “Don’t be such a big baby, Cadet.”

“With–” he ducks a sharp strike from her bare foot and feels it whoosh over his head.

“– all due respect –” _damnit,_ that hurts –

“– Commander, I–” he always tries to be on the offensive with Accardo because she’ll wear him down otherwise: she’s not even breathing hard, and Jim’s already panting like a dog –

“– had my Universal Translator data chip –” oh _fuck_ that was close –

He dodges again, rolling but coming right back up to try for a quick one-two, no such luck, she’s ready and waiting and lands a jab that his kidney will be feeling next _week_ , “–re-implanted this morning –”

She does a neat little backflip to dodge his attempt to swipe her off her feet, lands perfectly, takes his strike to her shoulder and retaliates with a hit to exactly the same spot as previously, just under the ear, unerring as a snake. Jim yelps again and staggers back at the sharp flare of pain, balance momentarily shorted out, and Commander Accardo hits him so hard in the stomach that he goes straight to the mat with a thud, all the air completely knocked out of him.

“– and my neck hurts like a _bitch_ , Commander,” he finishes wheezing, looking up at her from his supine position. Her mouth quirks as Jim lets his head thump back to the padded floor, and she turns to the class.

“So what did Cadet Kirk do wrong?” Jim asks the other cadets from the floor, then raises his own battered arm in response. “Oh, I know, Commander! He let you catch him brawling in a bar, because then you could threaten to put him on probation unless he joined Advanced Combat 206!”

Titters rise from the class.

Accardo kicks him gently in the ribs. Jim hams it up – doubles up and gasps like he’s been mortally wounded, but after the second round of giggles dies down, he sits up and asks again, “But seriously, guys, what did I do wrong?”

Thendar says, “You told her what your weak spot was.”

Accardo nods. “Try not to let your reactions give away an existing injury. You, for instance, constantly favour your right leg – torn ligament?”

“Yes ma’am,” Thendar answers, straightening up.

“How long ago was it?”

“With all due respect, Commander, I think I’ll keep that from you for now,” Thendar says, straight-faced.

Jim laughs and gives him a thumbs-up.

“You’re learning,” Accardo says. “What else could Cadet Kirk have done?”

“I might’ve tried going in hard and getting you pinned down,” Cadet Rickson volunteers. It’s never worked for Jim, but considering that Rickson probably weighs about as much as a teenage bear, that might not be such a bad idea.

“Or a submission hold,” adds Cadet Nguyen. “I’ll have something new for you after the holidays, Commander.”

Accardo nods. “I look forward to that, Cadet Nguyen. Alright, pair up, everyone. We’re gonna do the footwork drills before you sad little suckers go off for summer and get soft and sloppy.”

 “Ma’am, yes ma’am!” the cadets chorus, and Gary Mitchell trots over to hold a hand out to Jim. “She got you good, man,” Mitchell cackles, eyeing the rapidly purpling bruise on Jim’s neck.

“Well, so long as she hasn’t dislodged the implant or anything,” Jim shrugs. “Besides, just because Commander Accardo can kick my ass doesn’t mean I can’t kick yours, Mitchell.”

“Ooh, fighting words,” Mitchell taunts. “Come on, then.”

Jim lets himself fall into the easy rhythm of the drill, which is second nature to him by now – finding his center of gravity, squaring his weight properly, taking and giving the sequence of blows as he feels his soles shift on the padded surface.

As good as it’s been at the Academy, he’s restless, still gets the same urge to fight and fuck up someone’s face, and there’s no getting rid of the temptation until he gives in to it. Accardo had caught him at one of those times – one of those nights when he’d been too antsy to sit and too awake to sleep. It’d been shaping up to be good, three of them against one of him: he’d been getting into the swing of things and one of them had just smashed a beer bottle against the counter, full marks to him for doing it right, in fact – and then Accardo had stood up from her booth and had them all flat on the floor and crying in three minutes flat.

One of the others had turned out to be another cadet and that guy had had three months of cross-indexing and sorting the Starfleet Archives (date 2098 – 2099, sections A – F, all sixty thousand files of it) and Jim had had the option of doing the same (sections G – L) with probation, or taking Accardo’s class, because she’d liked the bit when he’d clapped his hands over the other guy’s ears and neatly busted both his eardrums.

“Finesse in a bar fight, Cadet. I like that,” she’d said.

Right now, his kidney’s voting that he should’ve picked Archives, but, all in all, Kirk thinks, Accardo’s class has been pretty awesome.

He finishes up on the mat with Mitchell, and then they both salute Accardo and head for the showers.

“So why’d they redo your UT chip?” Mitchell asks, over the rush of the water.

“Three-month stint on Ra’xi – Omicron Alpha 238,” Jim answers. “They needed to recalibrate it for the new input.”

“What’re you gonna be up to there?”

“Xenolinguistics and diplomacy credits. ’Fleet made First Contact with them about a year ago, so I’m guessing most of the heavy-duty negotiations are done already, but there’s still stuff to be ironed out, so the USS Tolstoy is gonna drop a team. Guess they’re bringing us along to do some of the scut work.”

“Enjoy yourself, man,” Mitchell says dubiously. “It sounds like a real pain.”

“That’s how command track goes,” Jim answers, shrugging.

“Better you than me.”

“Better me than anyone else,” Jim says, smirking as Mitchell groans. “Hey, wanna grab a drink?”

“Nah, got an early class tomorrow.”

“Ooh, is it _Dr Dehner’s_ class?” Jim asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Mitchell snaps his towel against the small of Jim’s back; Jim shrieks ( _not_ a girly shriek, okay, that is the sound anyone would make when hit with a wet towel that _stings_ ) and jumps backwards. “What’d I say?!”

“You know it’s Dehner’s class, asshole.”

“Yeah, and that’s what I said, man!”

“And that’s not what you _meant_ , and you know it, Jim,” Mitchell says, glaring.

“Fine, fine,” Jim backs off. “I’ll see you on the other side, Mitchell. Have a good break.”

“You too, man.”

\--

His mind keeps churning as he gets dressed. He thinks briefly about putting on his reds, but eventually decides against it, for no particular reason that he can name, although he knows he’ll be issued a punishment if he’s nabbed. (Weeding the lawns _by hand_ is the latest thing, but hell, if he has to, he’ll do it shirtless out on the quad and get the most of it, heh.) He just doesn’t want the uniform collar’s tight hold around his throat today; instead he tugs on a plain white shirt and dark jeans. They’re comfortable, and they have the added bonus of making him look even better than he usually does.

(Hey, no one ever said humility was one of his strong suits.)

Besides, it’s the last week of term: he isn’t gonna be the only cadet out without a liberty chit or not dressed in reds. The dragnet’ll close in around the major bars and clubs, so he’s gonna demonstrate a bit of that tactical thinking that Lieutenant Commander O’Leary likes going on about and go to Ingleside; they’ll be zooming in on Castro and Noe Valley while Jim’s relaxing in Café 1930. It’s usually too far out – he’s only been there once before – but it’s exactly what he wants right now. 

He grabs his leather jacket, shrugs it on, and cocks off a shot with a finger phaser, grinning at himself in the mirror. An internal voice (it sounds like No-First-Name-But-You’re-A-Funny-Hick Uhura) tells him not to be such a douchebag, but he’s never paid it any attention and he’s not gonna start now.

Before he heads out, though, his comm beeps, and when he flips it open to check, it’s Corrente. His lips purse unconsciously as he glances over it: _Hey baby: a bunch of us are gonna go to Galaga, you wanna come? I miss you!! <3 xoxo _

Two exclamation marks, a heart _and_ an xoxo? Corrente’s gorgeous and really, really bendy, but she’s also getting a bit attached for Jim’s tastes. It’s a good thing that there’s gonna be a summer between them soon. Thank god for space: whole planets and light years’ worth of distance.

He doesn’t text back, and by the time he’s jogged down the hallway and is clattering down the back stairs, he’s whistling as he goes. There’re bigger things to worry about in life.

\--

_Leonard,_

Once upon a time, the letter would’ve started off with “Dear Len,” or even “Darling”.

_Thanks for letting me know that you’ll be off-planet for the next three months. Joanna’ll miss her daddy, but I’m taking her to Greece for the summer – there’s a dig going on that I’ve been asked to consult on, and she’ll like it there, I think. I’ll tell her you’re going on an adventure, just like we are. And no, before you ask, Clay won’t be coming with us._

But hell, Jocelyn still knows him. Even from half a continent away she can still anticipate his rage, his anger, his fear – and that ironically makes him even angrier, because at some point she’d become a stranger to him – _how_ had he missed it, damnit?

_Do you want to call her on Sunday, if your shuttle leaves Monday morning? We’ll take a short flight out of Georgia and then it’s a short cruise to Thessalonika, but we’re only leaving on Tuesday. I’ve stocked up on lots of sunscreen for us  – SPF 50!_

His heart twinges. Call her, Jocelyn says, and she’ll set up the comm and tell their baby girl exactly which buttons to press, and then when he connects the call she’ll be nowhere in the background, because they just can’t see each other without shouting any more, and he doesn’t know how things got so bad between them. And sunblock – Joanna’s got the Darnell skin, pretty and pale and prone to burning. They’re so obviously mother and daughter, even if Jo’s got his dark hair and eyes. In happier times Jocelyn used to smile and play with Jo’s hair, and then she’d turn to him and smile the same way, and he’d touch Jo’s face and then Joce’s, turn and turn again, their three of them in their little world.

The misery and the rage came later, and it’s hard to not let them get in the way of the good memories.

He turns his attention back to the letter.

_Our baby girl topped her class in math, Leonard. She says she wants to be an engineer, at first I didn’t know where_ that _one was coming from, but then I let Mom and Dad babysit her last weekend and he was letting her look at a blueprint when I went into his study to get her, so that’s one mystery solved, at least. They send their regards, by the way._

Old man Darnell sends his regards, pah. It’ll be a cold day on Vulcan when Leonard believes that one: Darnell never forgave him for taking his darling daughter away and he’ll never forgive Leonard for the divorce. Wouldn’t spit on Leonard if he were on fire. But he’ll say this much: old Darnell loves his darling granddaughter.

Jo loves her Darnell grandparents too, which is yet another reason to keep her in Georgia, where they can watch over her. Jocelyn needed them to babysit on the weekend. Out with Clay bloody Treadway, Leonard figures, and resolutely tamps down the brisk, no-nonsense voice (it sounds a bit like Christine “Taking-her-own-sweet-time-about-becoming-a-doctor” Chapel) that tells him he’s being a bloody jealous asshole.

_I hope Starfleet’s treating you well. Your ex-colleague at Atlanta General – Patrick Emerson, the neurosurgeon – asked me for your contact details. I said I’d let you know he was looking for you, so I’m letting you know, but I figured you might not want to be found. I think he might want to offer you a position somewhere: those were the kind of vibes I was getting._

No way. Leonard knows exactly what Emerson wants – he’s going to JH Core Medical Research in Maryland, and he wants to take Leonard with him, has been after Leonard since he first got wind of it, almost a year ago. But Jocelyn wanted Leonard gone and hell, he’s gonna make a damn good go at getting as far away as he can.

The lawyers told him he could reapply for joint custody at some point. He’s holding on to that idea, but deep down he knows it’s not going to happen. Jocelyn has money and determination in spades and even if she’s being kind now, he knows she’s not going to back down on this one. He used to admire her for it: her tenacity, her surefooted steps in life. An iron fist in a velvet glove, is his Jocelyn.

Or rather, not his Jocelyn any more.

He’ll write Emerson and tell him politely to fuck off. He wants to add that he can try doing his own research instead of riding on the ability to pick talented subordinates and tagging his name onto theirs, but that’s the kind of shit that had got him in trouble all the time. “Bridge-burning belligerence,” his mother had called it, and she’d been right.

At least in Starfleet, he’s learnt to keep his mouth shut a little better. Insubordination is insubordination.

_Stay safe, Leonard. Write to us_ , _we’ll write to you: and let me know when’s good for you to call on Sunday._

_Jocelyn_

No salutation there either – once it would have been _Yours, Jocelyn,_ or _All my love, Jocelyn_ , or _Missing you lots, Jocelyn,_ but at least she hasn’t signed it _Jocelyn Darnell_. He’s not looking forward to it being _Jocelyn Treadway_ either.

Fuck it. Leonard hasn’t needed a drink this badly in a long time.

\--

Café 1930 doesn’t want to be cool or interesting or the next hot place to see or be seen. It wants to pour your drinks, take your money, and rinse and repeat until you’re done for the night, and if you’ll pay it’ll serve you the right stuff, so it’s one of Leonard’s favourite places. It’s out in the middle of nowhere in Ingleside, but that’s a draw as far as he’s concerned. The bars in the Mission and Castro where all the other cadets flock drive Leonard up the wall. They’re all such cocky stupid assholes.

He’s on his third double (and the bartender knows to keep them coming) when one of the cocky stupid assholes walks in, but this one is, in some weird way that he can’t define, an _okay_ cocky stupid asshole.

“Bones!” comes the cry of joy, and James T. Kirk ignores the dirty looks all the other patrons are shooting him as he hustles over to where Leonard is sitting at the bar.

“Don’t call me that, kid,” he drawls, but there’s no bite in him. The whiskey’s mellowed him out a touch already.

“Aww, it suits you, though. A Car Crash, please,” Jim says to the bartender, sitting down. “So what’re you doing here, Bones?”

Bones tips his glass at Jim in answer.

“Tell me something I _don’t_ know,” Jim says, and damned if Leonard knows how the kid does it, but when Jim says it it’s all sweet an’ teasing and happy, but when Leonard says it he rubs people the wrong way and puts hackles up from here to Mississippi.

“’S my favourite pastime,” he says wryly.

“Yeah, but you’re not usually this far in so quickly,” Jim says, and for a moment, a serious look flashes across that eternally irreverent face. “You’ve had, what, three drinks in fifteen minutes?”

“The hell you know that, kid?”

“You didn’t get annoyed when I called you Bones,” he says promptly, “And you’re all drawly.”

“Drawly, huh.”

“’Ss mah fahvarouite pas-taaa-ime,” Jim parrots in an atrocious mockery of Leonard’s own accent.

“I do not sound like that,” Leonard protests.

“Sure you do, Bones.”

“Do not.”

It looks like “Do too” is on the tip of Jim’s tongue when the bartender pointedly slaps a coaster on the table and sets Jim’s drink down loudly enough to interrupt their conversation (hell, that doesn’t even qualify as a conversation, except maybe in kiddie school. He doesn’t know what it is about Jim Kirk, but he just brings out this side of Leonard), and Jim gets distracted, thanking the bartender and clinking his glass against Leonard’s own before taking a gulp.

“So spill, Bonesy. What’s wrong?”

“Never call me that, you stupid little shit,” Leonard growls. 

“Alright, alright,” Jim says. “So what’s wrong?”

He’s persistent as hell, Leonard’ll give him that much. “Got a message from the ex-wife.” 

“Oh man. That sucks, Bones.”

“Tell me about it.”

The worst part is, now that Jocelyn’s got what she wants – sole custody and Leonard out of their lives – she can afford to be gracious, and she _is_. She’s not fussing about visitation, she’s writing regular updates, she’s making sure that Joanna calls him, she makes videos of Joanna and says “Say hi to daddy, sweetheart!” and bless her, Jojo always says “Hi, daddy!” and smiles that gap-toothed smile that creates a a heart-attack tightness in his chest. How he misses her, damnit, and he’s not quite man enough to admit, even to himself, that he misses _both_ his girls, but what the hell, it hurts when he hears that cool, soprano voice speaking too, even though he never sees Joce’s face.

He doesn’t tell Jim any of this and Jim doesn’t pry, which really is yet another thing to appreciate about the kid – the other man, really, Leonard needs to stop calling him that, Jim’s had shit of his own to deal with. Jim seems like the very definition of blue-eyed boy, but Leonard remembers seeing him that first day on the shuttle. Remembers the longing look he gave Leonard’s pocket-flask, and thinking to himself, _what the fuck, kid’s as scared as I am_. He’s sure that it’s more than just the _Kelvin,_ more than just George Kirk’s ghost, but Leonard ain’t gonna stick his nose where it ain’t wanted.

So they don’t say anything, they just sit there and drink next to each other, and it’s not so bad. It’s been a long time since Leonard’s had a friendship like this one – or maybe he never has.

Jim drains his quick, then orders another. To Leonard’s quirked eyebrow, he says, “I gotta catch up with you, Bones.”

“So what’re you doing for the summer break?” Leonard asks, and hell if that isn’t weird too, the idea of having a summer break again. He’s no green med student now, he’s pushing thirty and bitter as wormwood these days, but at least he’s not cleaning test tubes at a virology lab as an intern. Age and experience has its perks after all.

“Going to Ra’xi for the whole three months,” Jim answers, and Leonard stiffens a little in surprise.

“Ra’xi? I’m going there as well.”

“Really?” Jim turns to him, and he’s all excited now. Leonard can’t help but warm to that. “That’s awesome, Bones. I thought I was gonna be stuck there with the stuffy diplo team for the whole time, but you’re going?”

“Yeah – they’ve got a new technique for disrupting the hemagglutinin binding in certain viruses which sounds pretty promising, so we’re sending a team out to take a look.”

“Hemagglutinin – what, like for influenza?”

Leonard focuses on Jim for a moment – it’s rare to get anyone out of the med faculty who knows about the topic – and then abruptly wishes he hadn’t. Jim’s mouth is slightly open in surprise, and it draws attention to his lips, which are full and plush and should be bloody ridiculous but somehow it works on Jim and it’s really not fair to anyone.

(Leonard may have had a bit to drink already. Who’s counting?)

“Does it disrupt the attachment or the membrane fusion?” Jim’s still speaking, and Leonard’s always known that he’s smart – hell, Leonard’s _seen_ his workload – but Jim does such a good job of downplaying it. He’s not one of those who think that Jim is just a pretty face or his daddy’s famous name, but it’s always nice and a little surprising to be suddenly reminded that Jim is a bona fide genius, IQ 172 and all.

“Membrane fusion,” Leonard answers, taking another leisurely gulp and relaxing, fondly watching as Jim waves his hands around excitedly.

“Bones, this could be _major_! Influenza’s been kicking around for _centuries_ and we still haven’t got a grip on it.”

The sweetest thing is, Jim’s not showing off his eidetic memory or his knowledge of medical history: he’s genuinely excited for Leonard. Being a total peach about it.

“I know, Jim, but don’t go jumping the gun. For all you know it’s a quirk of their biology and we won’t be able to replicate the effects for Humans.”

“ _Or_ you’ll figure it out like the genius you are, Bones,” Jim insists, knocking his shoulder into Leonard’s companionably, “And then I’ll get to brag about you at all the boring parties that they make command cadets go to and everyone’ll be super jealous of me.”

Jim’s eyes are literally sparkling. Nobody should be allowed to do that, Leonard thinks vaguely, but he can’t deny that he’s pretty excited about the trip. Leonard McCoy (okay, and team, credit to everyone who’s going to Ra’xi with him if they manage this): didn’t manage to save his daddy or his marriage, but hey, cracked a virus that’s been bothering Human civilisation for millennia. He’ll take that.

Jim’s calling for more drinks – hell, when did he finish his second? Leonard figures that puts them about neck and neck in the drinks stakes, and when he picks up his fourth, it goes down smooth as butter and sweet-burning like hell and Georgia summers.

Jim’s looking at him in the oddest way, Leonard realises, and too late, his brain informs him that he maybe may’ve said that last bit out loud. But Jim’s not laughing, and he lets up on the odd look which Leonard can’t name, so he doesn’t worry about it.

“So, you an’ me on another planet, huh, Jim.”

“Yeah, Bones. We’ll have fun. The Ra’xi distill their alcohol from this potato thing, only it’s purple and apparently tastes like nothing you’ve ever had before.”

“With your luck, Jim, you’ll be allergic to it.”

“Nahh.” Jim’s smile is disgustingly sunny in the dark confines of the bar. “Never met an alcohol I couldn’t drink. Guess I’m only allergic to good ol’ wholesome stuff, like, I dunno, _food_.” 

It’s tragic that that’s not even an exaggeration. Jim Kirk has a list of allergies literally as long as Leonard’s arm (in point 8 font), and it seems like there’s a new one every six months.

“First time for everything,” he says wryly.

“Why you gotta jinx me like this, Bones,” Jim whines piteously, and Leonard can’t resist giving him a desultory pat on the head. Jim bats him away ineffectually, then spins around to face the crowd.  

“So, Bones, who d’you think’s cute here?” he asks, his gaze scanning the bar with ease of long practice.

“Jim, keep it in your pants for five seconds, can’t you?” Leonard groans.

“That would be no fun at all. How about her?” Jim jerks his chin at a pretty Andorian girl, all blue skin, which flushes a pretty violet as Jim winks at her. Bones can’t blame her.

“What about, what’s her name, Cosette?”

“Corrente, not Cosette. And it’s almost summer anyway, so it’ll be alright.”

“What? What does that even mean, Jim?”

“She’s going off home for the summer and I’m going to Ra’xi, so we’re gonna end things.”

“Uh huh.” Bones takes another swallow of the bourbon. “And does _she_ know this?”

“She should,” Jim answers, still idly scanning the bar for potentials. “How about him?”

_Him_? Leonard nearly chokes on the gulp he’s just taken and discreetly casts an eye over Jim’s chosen target. The other man’s also blond, though his hair’s lighter than Jim’s; he’s got cheekbones that could cut glass and is tall and thin and lanky and he’s got a full sleeve of tattoos. “Didn’t know that was your bag of cats, Jimmy,” he says cautiously. _Didn’t know_ that _kinda guy was your type,_ he doesn’t say.

“When it comes to war, I fight for Starfleet,” Jim intones in a way that tells Bones he’s quoting from somewhere. “But when it comes to love, I don’t choose sides.” 

“Damnit, I’m a doctor, not a cadet with too much spare time. I don’t get your old pop culture references, Jim.”

“You break my heart, Bones. So how about him, anyway?” Jim slants a look at him from under those unreasonably long lashes. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about being with a guy before.”

“I met my ex-wife when I was nineteen,” Leonard points out.

Jim whistles, a long slow exhales of wordless exasperation accompanied by a headshake. ( _That’s neither here nor there, Bones_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say.) “Well, you can always think about it now. I’m gonna go say hi.”

Leonard snorts. “You go do just that, kiddo. I’m gonna stay right here.”

“Suit yourself,” Jim says lightly, then hops off the barstool and makes for the stranger, who watches Jim heading for him without even the slightest hint of discretion.

Don’t be a hypocrite, Leonard wants to tell himself, because he’s watching Jim as well, reluctantly fascinated. Jim’s always been the kind of guy to run or stride or bounce on the spot, filled with restlessness, but his walk’s changed here, turned into a slow, steady stalk. He’s not swaying his hips or anything, Leonard thinks, trying to put his finger on it, not the way some women do, and yet he’s broadcasting his intentions clear as day. There’s something sensual and purposeful about it.

From there, it’s only a short step to wondering what Jim would be like in bed – slow, languid, sensual like this? He can hardly even begin to imagine it, but heat fills his body at the thought nonetheless. Does Jim like to fuck or get fucked? Knowing him, it’ll very well be both. His mind unhelpfully provides an image of Jim, gasping as he moves underneath Leonard, his mouth slack with pleasure –

Damnit. He’s too old to be fantasising about his friend in a bar, even if Jim makes it easy.

He watches, mesmerized, as Jim flirts with Blondie (Other Blondie?), who’s leaning in, his arm extended on the table to fence Jim in, both of them talking up a storm. It’s clear that both of them are old hat at that game, and by contrast, it’s been a long time since he’s had that with anyone, which is probably part of why he’s sitting here half-hard just from thinking about what Jim’ll be like in the sack. Nonetheless, he’s actually strangely unbothered by this. Jim’s good at what he does, which is to say he goes through life finding love and trouble in every corner, so Leonard figures he’s not going to be fussed about a dirty thought or three on Leonard’s part.

He finishes the fourth glass for courage, whips out his PADD and begins his reply:

_Jocelyn_

_Congrats on the dig consult – sounds like it’ll be great. Get some bug spray too, would you? Might help out there. Give my regards to your dad and your mom too, of course. I’ll call Sunday night at 2030 hrs your time, so you two can eat and we can talk before you get Jo into her bath and bed?_

_I’ll be fine on Ra’xi. Tell Jo I’ll get her something – on second thought, don’t. I’ll make it a surprise. She still likes stuffed animals, right? I’ll get her a friend for Princess Ptolemy._

_Leonard_

He hits “send”, orders a fifth, and drinks it. Emailing Joce has been enough to cut off all thoughts of Jim and sex, but the sadness of losing his family is still there, ever-present just between his third and fourth rib, waiting to rear up and bite him. He drinks the last drink slowly. He wants to make it last, ’cause he’s going to cut himself off after this. He’s learnt the hard way that if he doesn’t, he’ll wake up hating himself on a curb somewhere –

They do say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, though, he thinks morosely, looking down at the slowly melting ice in his fifth glass and contemplating a sixth. He can’t bring himself to call for the bill, can’t bring himself to look at the PADD to see whether Joce has received his message already –

“ _Aaaand_ that’s it for you, Bones,” and what the fuck? Jim?

“Thought you were going home with Other Blondie,” Leonard says, tearing his gaze away from that red, red mouth. 

“Other Blondie? That’s all you could come up with?” Jim is shaking his head exaggeratedly slowly while waving for the tab. “I’m disappointed, man.”

Leonard snorts.

“He doesn’t fool around without his boyfriend,” Jim continues, “Which ordinarily would sound awesome, but the boyfriend only gets into town on Monday. So I guess it’s just you and me for the evening.”

“Should I be honoured,” Leonard notes wryly.

Jim’s laugh is bright. “Immeasurably, Bones.”        

They roll out into the San Francisco night air, which is cool and refreshing on his face, wet with the Frisco fog and the scent of water on some far-reaching breeze. Jim summons a cab and Leonard lets him, both of them standing shoulder-to-shoulder, listening to the light and warmth and noise pour out from other bars. Leonard’s gaze flickers upwards to the lights in the apartment buildings across the road, and wonders about all the families and lovers getting ready for the night.

Ah, hell, the bourbon’s making him maudlin, and he says as much.

“I dunno, Bones. You’re not as grumpy as usual, which kinda worries me but is also kinda awesome.”

“…whatever you say, kid.”

“An' stop calling me that,” Jim says. His words are a little less precise now, blurred with alcohol, but his blue eyes are sharp as ever, and Leonard gives in to the question that’s been hovering at the edge of his mind ever since Jim walked into the bar:

_What would it be like to kiss him?_

They’re just staring at each other like idiots, standing too close by half, the air between them suddenly loaded with the need to do or say something to each other. Impulsively, Leonard moves to close the gap –  

The taxi pulls up, and it’s suddenly as though the last thirty seconds dropped out of the world. They get in and spend the ride talking shit like they always do, and just like that, they’re hopping off at Leonard’s dorm and the evening’s over. “I’ll see you Monday, Bones,” Jim says, and claps him briefly on the shoulder.

“See you Monday, Jim,” he returns, and trudges towards the stairs. As he disappears, he casts his eye over his shoulder one last time, and catches Jim still standing there, watching him with that same odd look he was wearing earlier in the bar.

He waves and Jim waves back, and just like that, Jim turns and lopes off towards his own dorm and Leonard goes off to bed himself, all strangeness forgotten by morning.

\--

It’ll be a lot later that Leonard figures that odd look for what it’s for, and when he finally gets that it’s _tenderness_ , it’ll hit him harder than anything ever has before.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Ra'xi, Jim and Bones attend a political rally, and realise that the incumbent government hasn't been entirely honest with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing that I love about science fiction in general is exploring the idea of new worlds and cultures, and it's always been a bit of a pet peeve of mine that there isn't as much of that in the reboot movies, so I've got a bit of world-building going on here, as well as building up the relationship between Jim and Bones. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

On Ra’xi, the whole ’Fleet team’s fallen into the habit of eating Friday dinner together in the Terran Embassy’s Starfleet Annexe. There aren’t that many of them – six on the diplo team and six on the medical research team, so it’s a pleasantly casual meal – Jim cooks a massive quantity of pasta, Dr Bechet makes a mean salad dressing, and cadets Randolph and Waldenfeld volunteer for dish duty, so after they’re done, Jim grabs Bones and makes their excuses to Ambassadors Patricia Toth and Alizé Durand before either of them can give Jim more work to do and more trade statutes to look up.

“Come on, Bones,” Jim says. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yeah, a walk,” Jim repeats. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, course not, but d’you have any place you wanted to go…?”

“Not in particular,” Jim hedges.

Bones raises an eyebrow at him, clearly dubious. “Don’t bullshit me, Jim,” he says flatly.

Well, Jim _does_ have something in mind, but he’s only recently learned enough Ra’xi to even guess at what it’s about. The UT doesn’t do too well with the written script, which is covered with flourishing curliques and little dots, the size and placement of which all mean something.

He’d picked up a flyer from a Ra’xi girl handing them out on the street, all but shoving the plas-sheets at passersby, and there had been something about her determined expression that had stuck with Jim. He’s always been one to trust his gut instincts, so he’s pored over it a dozen times this week, painstakingly translating – and wishing that Uhura was there, but then again he’s just that touch too proud to ask her for help with a task that he _knows_ he can do.

He’ll show it to Bones after they’ve checked it out. It might be nothing, but then again… “I’ll tell you about it later, Bones. In the meantime, Can’t I just want some time with my best friend?”

“Oh,” is the response he gets, but at least Bones gets moving. They’re out of the Terran Embassy’s compound and walking along the pavement before Bones speaks up again.

“Is that what we are, then?”

“What?” Jim asks, already mentally plotting a meandering course. The landscape’s unfamiliar but laid out on a grid, completely different from Frisco. It’s all low-slung, meandering buildings and open, sunken plazas with benches and platforms serving as performance spaces, and he’s aiming for the one named on the plas-sheet: T’rir Oung Plaza.

“Best friends.”

“What?” he says again, but this time he’s properly focused on Bones. “’Course we are, Bones, don’t be silly. You puked on my shoes the first time we met, remember? _And_ on the shuttle ride here. If that doesn’t let me claim best friend privileges, I don’t know _what_ does.”

“I’ve never really thought about it, I guess,” is the rather subdued answer.

“What?” Jim’s starting to feel a bit silly about the constant yelps of “What?” so he rubs the back of his neck and tries again. “Bones, you don’t have to think about this. I think you’re my best friend and I hope you agree, but if you don’t, then it’s okay, man. I’m not gonna cry ’cause you pulled my pigtails.”

“No, you _are_ my best friend, Jim,” Bones replies, and suddenly Jim’s chest is a little lighter, for reasons he can’t really pin down. “Just a bit surprised that I’m _yours_ , I guess. Not used to sudden confessions like that,” he adds, a grin returning to his face.

Surprised that he’s Jim’s best friend? _What the hell, Bones_ , he wants to say, but Bones gave him an out because he wants Jim to take it, so Jim’ll take it for now. “Yeah, like you haven’t got half the nurses at Starfleet Medical hot and bothered,” Jim teases back.

“Damnit, Jim, that’s _not true_.”

Jim laughs, falling back on the easy banter that’s so good between him and Bones. “I tell it like I see it, Bones. I wander in and say “Hey, I’d like to see Dr McCoy,” and they’re all squabbling about who gets to take me in to see you and say _hi_ to Dr McCoy, because he’s _so_ good at what he does, and he’s _so_ handsome besides. I heard one of them call you “gruff and manly” once.”

“I never hear any of this!”

“Of course you don’t, you numbskull. They’re hardly gonna say it to your face, are you?” Jim scoffs. “Just trust me, Bones.”

It never fails to surprise Jim that Bones never seems to be aware that he’s _hot_ , but he is, with his broad shoulders and his large, capable hands. Hell, Bones is _literally_ tall, dark and handsome, and Jim would be lying if he says he hasn’t occasionally thought about what that Georgia drawl’ll be like in bed.

That evening at the bar, just before they’d left Earth for Ra’xi, when he’d been flirting with the other guy – he’d looked over at Bones for just a brief moment, and been arrested by the sight of him, sitting at the bar watching _them_ with his legs slightly spread, drink in hand –

Hell, Bones’d been interested. Jim’s not stupid – he’d read it clear as day in Bones’s dark eyes, and there’d been that moment, outside the bar, when Jim’d looked at Bones and thought to himself, _going home with him tonight, huh_ , and wondered what it’d be like to be splayed out under Bones’s clever, broad hands –   

_But nothing happened_ , Jim reminds himself, and this is Bones, who’s his best friend, and is gonna be his CMO someday (they’ll fix the aviophobia if it’s the last damn thing Jim does), and maybe they’ll fuck and maybe they won’t, but it’s not going to matter.

Even the Ra’xi women glance at him, Jim thinks idly. They must make a good picture, walking down the street together in the cool evening: one blond and one dark, both of them exotically human.

“You’re bloody oblivious, Bones.”

“Huh?”

“Ahead, three coming our way at our two o’ clock – don’t look.” Jim says, and true to form, Bones looks, and so he catches the eye of a pretty Ra’xi girl who flushes a charming shade of bright pink at meeting Bones’s gaze and immediately retreats to the company of her friends, all of them whispering and casting glances at the two of them. Jim smirks and tilts his head at one of her friends, who also flushes bright pink. “Aww, Bones, she likes you. Come on–”

“What? Jim, no!” Bones hisses, but he’s too late – Jim’s marched up to the oncoming group. He tips his head politely in greeting and gets a flurry of headbobs and blushes in return. “Hi, ladies. My name’s Jim and that’s my friend Leonard over there. We were out for a walk but we’re a bit lost – new to the city and all that. Can you tell us where we are?”

One of them offers the close-mouthed, one-sided uptilt of the lips that Jim knows is a Ra’xi smile. “You are not far from the National Museum, if you wish for an informative evening,” she tells them. “You just continue in the direction you are taking and make a turn towards the sun-that-has-set.”

“Or maybe you and your friend have other intentions for your evening?” another one of them chips in, looking directly at Bones, who is hovering just behind Jim’s shoulder, broadcasting discomfort.

“Oh, we’re just wandering around and seeing what’s interesting,” Jim says airily, ignoring Bones’s pointed coughing. “What’re you ladies up to?”

“We are going to the Plaza of Broken Hearts,” the first girl takes up the thread of the conversation again. “To hear G’reth from the Freedom Party speak.”

“A political rally?” Jim asks, feigning innocence while resisting the urge to do a fistpump. The Plaza of Broken Hearts – _T’rir Oung_ , of course. He has the _best_ luck, he really does. “Tell me more, ladies. I’m currently pursuing a course of intercultural politics at a Terran university, so I’d love to hear about it…”

They fall into step with the girls, and behind him, he vaguely hears another girl asking Bones, “So what do you do?” and Bones’s halting reply that he does medicine. She makes a small trill indicating pleasure, and Jim grins to himself, turning his attention back to the two who are telling him about the Freedom Party.

\--

They hear the swell of noise first. The Ra’xi girls – Sh’la, M’gi and the oddly-close-to-Standard-sounding Bell – have led them down side streets that are increasingly filled with impromptu stalls – folding desks and spread-out blankets with people hawking food, but also young Ra’xi men and women handing out leaflets and flyers and pamphlets. A few of them are standing on boxes are declaiming to all and sundry about “fairness for the people on New Windam”.

Jim listens carefully to the buzz around them. New Windam is Ra’xi’s mining planet, he remembers: previously used as prison grounds in the days when their space transport was essentially one-way at best. Today, though, it’s a fairly self-sufficient, semi-autonomous region. There are still some penal colonies, if Jim remembers rightly, but it’s largely populated with the descendants of those early transports and voluntary colonists.

That’s as far as the Federation’s been told. As they round the corner and Jim’s greeted with his first sight of the Plaza of Broken Hearts, he’s starting to think that some crucial details have been left out.

The place is _seething_ with people. A glance and some mental math suggests that the Plaza is approximately a quarter mile on all sides; even accounting for the central platform bearing the massive statue of the Ra’xian founding father Nang kneeling in grief for fallen comrades, Jim figures that the square would hold 150,000, easy. From the looks of things, it’ll need to: more people are still streaming in. The volume of chatter is growing on all sides as they’re absorbed into the crowd by a slow, throbbing push-and-pull. It feels almost sentient, larger by far than the sum of its parts, and Jim shudders lightly before glancing over his shoulder for Bones. He’s relieved to see Bones just a pace behind, with Bell close to his side.

“Will you take my elbow?” Sh’la asks him.

“What?” Jim’s momentarily bewildered, but he immediately understands when he spots Sh’la and M’gi’s intertwined arms. They’ve locked their elbows together, arms tucked close to their bodies, and are standing firm as a unit against the jostling of the crowd. “Oh, sure – like this?” he asks, tucking his elbow against Sh’la’s. She nods approval.

“I will be last in line,” Bell pipes up, offering her elbow to Bones, who shoots Jim a _what-the-hell-is-this-you-stupid-idiot_ look, but takes it anyway. Jim just beams at him. “In for a penny, in for a pound, Bones,” he says merrily, and grabs Bones’s hand intead of his elbow, interlacing their fingers for a more secure grip.

“Yeah? What’s that in Federation credits, then?” Bones demands grumpily, but his fingers tighten around Jim’s.

“I actually do have an antique Terran pound coin somewhere,” Jim muses. “20th century, when it was first introduced. I’ll dig it out for you, Bones.”

It’s worth mentioning it just to hear Bones sputtering in outrage. “Jim, are you _nuts_? Those are antiques, you idiot!”

“Yeah, a docent at the Intergalactic Numismatics Institute once offered me 5,000 credits for it. Huh, d’you think Joanna’d like it?”

Bones doesn’t even answer him, but he _does_ squeeze Jim’s hand, so Jim counts that as a point for Team Kirk. Bones’s grip is strong and warm and sure. It’s pretty nice, so he squeezes back and Bones’s smile is welcoming.

They’re not quite at the centre of the masses, but the crowd has begun to thin a little. They’re moving from the standing participants to a section where little clumps of Ra’xians are seated on woven cloth blankets. M’gi calls a halt when one group hails her, and tumbles to the ground to join them.

“It’s a sizeable number tonight, R’ger,” he says, addressing the Ra’xian male who’s obligingly handing her a drink.

“And who’ve you brought to swell our numbers, M’gi?” another Ra’xian guy asks.

“These are Jim and Leonard,” M’gi introduces. “They’re offworlders from Terra! And these are Bell and Sh’la, my friends.”

“Well met,” Jim says, and Bones follows suit, both of them tipping their heads to the side.

“R’ger, Hann, E’roy,” M’gi introduces. Jim carefully commits names and faces to memory – he suspects Bones has forgotten them the minute they were said, but Jim’s the one who’s intending to captain a ship one day.

“So what brings an offworlder to a Freedom rally?” Hann questions, his third eye whirling as he regards Jim.

“I was curious,” Jim answers simply, and settles more fully onto his patch of blanket, mimicking Hann’s slight sprawl. “I do intercultural politics at Terra’s Intergalactic Institute for Further Studies. M’gi’s filled me in on some of the details already, but that just makes me even more curious about all this.” He waves a hand to take in the crowd.

“So, you do intercultural politics?” E’roy leans forward, a sharp look in his eyes. “Do you think injustice is endemic across the universe, then?”

“I think it’s as endemic as the attempt to fix it,” Jim dissembles. It’s cultural for most members of the Ra’xi to carry weapons (pulsed energy projectiles), even if they’re hardly ever used, and he’s acutely aware of that. He may not be a _real_ student of politics, but he knows that a rally is often a powder keg waiting to go off.

“Well-answered,” Hann cuts in, and Jim relaxes a little as the other Ra’xian takes the reins of the conversation. “Your pessimism does no one any good, E’roy – what would be the _point_ if we didn’t believe that things could be changed? They _have_ changed before, even in our history.”

“And look where we are again,” E’roy points out, but this is clearly an old argument between friends, the two of them digging down to begin their squabble proper. M’gi takes the chance to hand Jim some fruit. “Sorry about that, they can be a little intense at times,” she explains. “But we all agree that the way the government’s been handling New Windam is completely out of line. The Unification Front’s grip on Parliament is a part of the bigger problem, of course, but the use of force against the whole colony in retaliation for a splinter group’s actions… that’s ridiculous, frankly, and if we let our own government get away with this, then _wir s’nd gificktn_.”

The UT boggles at the last few words, but Jim can figure it means “we’re fucked”.

\--

“We can make a difference,” the speaker promises, and it’s incredible, how silent the Plaza is. There’s an electric charge in the air – every single hair on his arm is standing on end, and it’s not just because of the night temperatures. Every Ra’xian is listening, and the silence of hundreds of thousands has its own weight, its own gravity. Leonard’s on edge. Jim’s on edge. The whole damn place is balanced on a knife, teetering dangerously. Leonard’s gonna _kill_ Jim later, he thinks to himself. He’s gonna kill him deader than stone.

“We have recently achieved warp, and here with us is one of the scientists who made it possible,” G’reth of the Freedom Party states, and gestures towards a slender Ra’xian woman, who bows deeply. The assembled Ra’xians stamp their feet and pound the ground with clenched fists in their version of applause; Leonard feels the earth itself reverberating before the speaker waves for silence. “R’lil, who is descended from the house of Nang himself,” G’reth continues. “Her breakthrough has helped us immeasurably. But I believe, and she believes, and _you all believe_ that the current state of affairs cannot be allowed to continue!

“How are we to allow the Unification Front government to represent us to the universe? They who have slaughtered children on New Windam–” he has to pause to allow the crowd to express its rage, which it does, again with feet and fists, but this time, in slow, rhythmic, war-beat thumps. Several of the men and women around them are slamming the butts of their weapons into the ground in time with their compatriots. “– and used the actions of terrorists as an excuse for their violence are _not fit_ to lead us!”

Leonard glances over at Jim, who is taking this in with a deadly serious look. There will be repercussions for the diplomatic team, because this is the first ’Fleet has heard of any of this. The data packet said “stable government, in power for the last twenty years, generally high satisfaction amongst populace”, which _really_ isn’t what he’s witnessing right now.

“These, my friends, are the demands we must make: first, free and fair elections! No more secret tallies and system glitches. They think we are fools but we are not fooled,” G’reth hisses angrily, and an answering hiss echoes back, magnified from hundreds of thousands of angry mouths. “Secondly, an end to the missile attacks on New Windam! While we all deplore the actions of the New Windam Independence Collective, firing on a sister planet will never be the answer. And lastly, that the corrupt elements in our government are to be brought into the sunlight, so that there will be no shroud for them to hide their shame under!”

M’gi mutters something under her breath, so faint that Leonard strains to catch it. He needn’t have, though: soon the whole of the plaza is resounding to the chant of “ _Ras! Ras! Ras!_ ”

“Out”: a demand and a threat all at once.

“Brothers and sisters,” G’reth promises as the roar dies down, “We will live to see them thrown from the stoop of our house, and fairness restored to her place. Thank you for being with me tonight.”

Again, the applause of fists and feet –

And then the sudden flare of floodlights overhead.

Jesus _fucking_ Christ on the cross, it’s the _police_ , Leonard realises, and he grabs Jim by the bicep. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he hisses. The crowds around them are surging to their feet.

“Attention: this rally has not acquired the relevant Permit No. 513 and is therefore illegal. Please disperse now or force will be used.”

Sh’la loops her arm around her friend and begins tugging. “Let’s go, M’gi.”

“No!” the Ra’xi woman shouts, furiously disentangling herself. “Why should we leave? Backing off now is exactly what they want, Sh’la!”

“Your friend’s right,” Leonard advises, fighting back rising fear. “There’s being brave and being stupid, and right now anyone who insists on staying in this square is on the stupid side of things.”

E’roy glares at him. “If we show them fear we show them weakness,” he argues, and makes that same angry hiss that G’reth had made on stage.

“Goddamnit, man!” Leonard curses. “Jim, we’ve got to go. You know what’s coming next, _damnit_!” he hopes – oh, how he hopes – that this isn’t going to be a James T. Kirk moment of useless defiance.

But Jim’s uncharacteristically pale, and his voice is uncharacteristically hollow as he agrees: “I do know, Bones.”

“Then _snap out of it_.” Leonard’s voice is low and urgent as the voice repeats its instructions from overhead. “Let’s go!”

Thankfully, Jim does, the focus returning to his eyes as he snaps to attention. “Right. M’gi – I’m sorry, but Leonard’s right. It’ll be tear gas next, and worse, and we’ve got to get out of here. Which way?”

But there’s determination in her face, and it’s clear that she’s not going. “You can go if you like, but I am not leaving,” she answers. “4th Boulevard is that way,” she directs, pointing 10 o’ clock. “Go straight from this point for about a hundred metres and you’ll find the pathway that runs through the square. Follow the pathway for about another hundred metres, then break off and go straight left for about three hundred metres.”

Jim grabs Sh’la and Bell and is about to go, but Leonard can’t just leave the rest of them here. He turns back to appeal with them one last time. “Damnit, I’m a doctor – _listen to me_ , for fuck’s sake. We’ve got to go. The whole square has to be cleared! Y’all have never seen gas used, have ya – well, it’s not going to be pretty. You’ll be crying uncontrollably and you’re gonna puke and you won’t know which way is up from your arse and you’ll be running away pretty damn fast once it starts, only everyone _else_ is gonna have the same bright idea, and you’re gonna be _crushed_ as people panic – it’s fucking _chemical warfare_ and you’re not gonna be able to fight back, you fools!”

“If they fire on us, we will be fired upon, and that will help people see how far this government’s gone,” Hann says calmly, and sits back down, crossing his arms.

“Fuck you,” Leonard swears, not caring that it’s not diplomatic. “You’ll die for nothing if you’re not careful, kid.”

“Bones.” Jim’s voice cuts across his rant, cold and clear. “Let’s get outta here. I don’t like the sound of what they’re saying up there.”

He grabs Jim’s hand and locks elbows with Bell again, and this time they hurry through the crowd, most of whom are still milling around, having the exact same discussion about whether to go or stay. Emotions are running high, and the warnings from the hovercopters circling overhead are increasingly dire. He and Jim shoulder their way through the crowd with single-minded determination and they hit the pathway so Leonard knows they’re on the right track, but aw, _hell_ –

The single-minded _thud-thud pause_ that the Ra’xi had used to signal rage earlier is gathering again, the ground shaking beneath their feet once more as they shove their way through the crowd, and just as Leonard doesn’t think the war-beat can get any louder, he hears the one noise he didn’t want to hear: the whistle of canisters overhead.

“FUCK–”, is all the warning he gets to shout, and then the _pop-pop-pop_ of the gas deploying –

The burn is immediate – Leonard’s eyes slam shut instinctively at the sudden sear of pain and he refuses the urge to gasp, keeps his mouth resolutely shut so that it won’t get to his throat, even though his sinuses are on _fucking fire,_ but he hears Bell choking behind him and knows she hasn’t been so lucky, feels her arm jerk against his as she scrabbles wildly –

Leonard forces his eyes open to see Jim’s white-knuckled grasp on his own hand and tightens his own grip. Jim’s watering eyes are somehow still wide open, fixed on the pathway, his arm muscles engaged as Sh’la, too, is choking – all around them people are screaming, and Leonard yanks Bell closer as the panicking crowd buffets his body, pulling closer to Jim. He can’t lose Jim in this crowd, won’t lose Jim –

– who yanks them abruptly left. Leonard squinches his eyes shut again and forces himself forward – someone shoves at him and he stumbles, his fingers breaking with Jim’s for one desperate moment – before Jim roars in frustration and literally _punches the guy out of the way,_ shouting “Bones! Here!” – and Leonard manages to stumble back to him –

They’re both crying so hard, fuck, and it’s getting harder to breathe with all the mucus clogging them up – Jim’s red in the face from shortness of breath and Leonard spares a moment to pray that he’s not allergic to whatever they use in their gas, and the girls are suffering worse, both of them moaning low with pain – Leonard’s face feels like he’s burning alive and if this was designed to be used on the Ra’xi, he doesn’t want to know how it must feel for them – but Jim is still going on grimly, and Leonard sees his lips move for a moment, just a glimpse when he dares to crack his eyes open again and he realises – Jim is _counting steps_ , he knows where they’re going and is still following M’gi’s directions –

Leonard spares the barest thought for M’gi, still there in the heart of the rally, but that’s quickly forgotten as Jim forges on, and Leonard’s been a fucking atheist for forever, but, please let Jim’s count be correct, please let them be headed in the right direction, please let them get out of here –

Sh’la – oh, fuck, she’s down, her elbow ripped from Jim’s – Leonard’s heart stops in his throat as he sees someone else step on her foot – her howl of pain is so loud that it reaches Leonard’s ears even through the generic screams and chaos of the crowd and for a moment he thinks they’ll lose her before Jim rips away from Leonard, hauls her up and throws her over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry in one swift move. “Bones,” he rasps, and Leonard’s by his side in a moment.

“Good,” he gasps, and they’re on the move again, oh god, let this nightmare stop, goddamnit –

And then suddenly it does – the crowd loosens, streaming away in all directions, and the air is plain air again, they’re getting clear now, with the clean wind in their faces – “4th Bouvelard,” Jim croaks, and even though he can’t see it, Leonard knows, just _knows_ , that Jim’s wearing a grin the size of bloody Texas.

“Fuck, kid,” is all he says.

“Come on,” Jim urges, and Leonard follows.

\--

They’ve both showered thrice and binned the clothes they were wearing and Toth and Durand have been brought up to speed and Jim has promised them a full report by 0800 hrs tomorrow and Bones has taken a look at Sh’la’s broken foot and she and Bell have both been sent home.

Jim’s exhausted but he’s so wired that he can’t even _think_ of sleeping, so he’s getting a head start on the report when he hears the tapping at the door.

“Yeah, come in, Bones,” he calls, and the door slides open. Bones pads silently in, and he’s got a bottle of Laphroaig clutched by the neck and two glasses to go with it.

“Shit, is that the good stuff?” Jim says, already making _gimme_ motions.

Bones pours them both a neat three fingers, and thumps wordlessly down on Jim’s bed, so Jim sits beside him and they clink glasses before tossing it back in silent accord, and _damn_ , this is good, and maybe he should be treating it with more respect – dinner and a date and scented candles, maybe – but then again he’s had a _really shitty day_.

“So you knew where we were going all along, I’m guessing?” Bones drawls, and Jim winces.

“Look, Bones, I didn’t know it was going to be like that,” he states. “But yeah, no excuses: I wanted to check out the rally, because I found this –” he fishes out the plas-sheet and hands it to Bones, “– and when I read it I figured there was something the Ra’xi weren’t telling us.”

Bones nods, taking the plas-sheet and giving it a cursory glance before putting it down – it’s not as if he can read it, anyway.

“And you couldn’t have got the information any other way?”

“No one we work with was gonna tell us,” Jim points out. “They’re all part of the existing government.”

“We were _gassed_ ,” Bones snarls.

“Believe me, I didn’t like it either,” Jim snaps back. “Look, I thought it would be a fringe group discussion, not a fucking huge rally. And you know what? I would’ve gone anyway, even if I’d known, because this is major and affects how the Federation will negotiate with the Ra’xi, so fuck you, Bones.”

“You would’ve gone because you don’t give a fuck about _risk_ , Jim, and you never think about whether something is _worth that risk_ , you idiot!”

Jim deflates a little. Fuck – Bones is right. It’s not as if he’d signed up for Jim’s recklessness, and he’d nearly been trampled. “Look, let’s start this over again – I’m just wired and full of shit right now. I’m sorry for dragging you into the middle of that, Bones. It won’t happen again.”

Bones gapes at him a little. “What? No – Jim, that’s not the fucking point. Don’t you _dare_ –” and now he looks more furious than before. “I just wish you would take better care of _yourself_ , you fucking idiot. You could’ve died, Jim.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t reply, which seems to infuriate Bones even more, because he sets down the whiskey with a decisive thump and actually starts shaking Jim by the shoulders. “Don’t you _dare_ use this as an excuse to leave me behind the next time you do something stupid, you hear that? If you run off and do something stupid without me, I swear to god I’ll hypo you into a coma and put you in a bloody cryotube for the next half century until you bloody well grow up, you hear me?”

Jim cracks a laugh at that. “Cryotubes are twenty-first century technology, old man. Quit it, Bones, you’re rattling what’s left of my brain.”

“Yeah, well, I think we’ve proved that you ain’t got all that many peanuts between your ears,” Bones says, but he stops shaking Jim and pours him another two fingers of the Scotch, so Jim figures he’s forgiven.

There’s a warmth in his chest and it’s not from the whiskey. 

“Besides, kid, you froze up for a moment, at the plaza.” Bones swirls the amber liquid in his glass, staring into it as if it has all the answers. “Care to tell me what that was about?”

_Ah, shit_.

But he owes Bones this much at least.

So James T. Kirk squares his shoulders and walks right up to the line, ’cause that’s what he’s been doing all his life. “Wasn’t anything major – it was just a flashback. Y’see, I was on Tarsus IV, Bones.”

“Tar- _Tarsus_?” Bones stutters, and Jim doesn’t even want to look at his face right now, doesn’t want to see the pity or the horror on it.

“Yeah. I was twelve – mum sent Sam and me there, ’cause Frank was a right asshole – she thought it’d be good for us. Guess that didn’t turn out so well.”

“Oh, fuck, Jim,” Bones murmurs, and there’s the oddest little catch in his voice. Jim chances a look at him, and yes, it’s pity and horror, but it’s also Bones, so it’s also empathy, which makes it kinda better.

“He killed people in the town square too,” Jim squeezes out. It’s an effort to get the words out. It feels like his throat’s closing up, like he’s been gassed again, like he’s allergic to all talk of Tarsus. He’ll never say the bastard’s name if he can help it.

“Christ,” Bones swears angrily.

Jim swallows the whiskey in one go and then turns to butt his head into Bones’s shoulder, even though he can’t tell why he does it.

He only recognises the gesture for the cry for comfort that it is a moment later, and by then it’s too late – Bones has recognised it too, and slung a broad, heavy arm around Jim’s shoulders, forcing him to slump into Bones’s side.

His Ole Miss t-shirt is thin from repeated washing, and Jim turns his face into the fabric, suddenly grateful for its softness and the way it lets the warmth of Bones’s skin through. “Aw, hell, Jim,” Bones says, and there’s that odd note in his voice again. His grip tightens on Jim, like it did when they were running from the plaza. 

**Author's Note:**

> It is my headcanon that, by their third year, Leonard has moved away from the bitter "My ex-wife took the whole planet in the divorce" blame-game that he was playing in the shuttle ride and has realised that his divorce really is at least as much his fault as Jocelyn's, because he really is a bossy, acid-tongued, almost-alcoholic asshole, and it's my hope that this fic shows him headed in that direction. It's also my headcanon that Jim is adorable and lovable to his friends and comrades and has many good qualities but is otherwise a bit of a jerk. 
> 
> Title from Savage Garden's _[To The Moon and Back](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCm6gRHINqA)_ , which is my secret Jim-and-Bones theme song. Feedback and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!


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